Page 5 of Destroy (Deadly Hearts 2)

“That’s yours?” I ask casually and cross over to it. “You like to draw? You like to draw half naked, tied up women?”

“I can’t help the compulsion,” he pants. “I didn’t hurt her.”

“You don’t strike me as the sloppy type. Why did you leave it? So you could come back and draw her some more?”

“Yes,” he mumbles.

“What did Boomer do to her?” I ask.

“He stabbed her and injected her with some stuff. I don’t know what it is. He…he…”

I turn back to him. “He what?”

Smith licks his lips and looks to the left. “He raped her.”

It feels like someone just reached into my chest and squeezed my heart in their hands. “How do you know that? Did you watch? Did you stand by and do nothing while he violated her? Did it get you off watching that?” I take two steps forward when he doesn’t answer me and position the gun under his chin. “Answer my questions.”

“I watched. He made me. I didn’t want to stay,” he stammers.

“You didn’t try to help her?” The ice in my tone is clear even to my own ears.

Ruby. Oh, Ruby. I’m so sorry.

“I couldn’t. You don’t know that man. He was a fucking psycho,” Smith cries.

“And you aren’t?” I ask steadily. “What kind of man stands by while a helpless woman is assaulted?”

He drops his eyes.

Something still doesn’t feel right.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I ask so quietly, I don’t think he heard me at first. “You were the one who raped her.”

“N-no,” he chokes out. “I swear, it wasn’t me.”

I nod slowly. “See, I think it was you and there isn’t a chance in hell you are walking out of here alive on the charge of watching, so you might as well confess your sins…” I dig the gun further into him. “Tell me…was it you who violated her?”

“No,” he whispers. “It was Boomer!”

“Wrong answer,” I murmur and pull the trigger.

His head snaps back, and he drops to the table, falling over the other side and landing in a dead heap, on the cold, bare floor.

I pick up the bag, shoving the gun into it and walk over to the metal table with the torture instruments. I find what I’m looking for. No good torturer walks around without his blow torch, in my experience.

I grab it and test it. A flame shoots out and I nod to myself. Walking back to the body of the Detective Inspector, I bend down and fire up the torch. I hold the flame to the cheap material of his shirt, and it goes up like a Tiki after a few seconds.

I step back and pull the hip flask of whisky out of my jacket pocket. It’s not for drinking. Never for taking a sip. But you never know when you need to set a fire to cover your tracks.

Striding over to Boomer, I look down at him, taking in a small sense of pride at Ruby’s handiwork and then dump the contents of the flask onto the dead man. Then I light him up and drop the blow torch, walking out of that room as the fires burn hotter and quicker behind me. I close the door and head out onto the street from this dingy alleyway and walk towards the nearest bus stop.

It is time to go to Ruby and take care of her now.

She is going to need it after what she has endured. She is going to need extra care. It hurts my heart to think about how she must be feeling, but I push it aside. This isn’t about me.

I board the bus and pay my fare, smiling at the old lady in the front seat. She smiles back, a big happy beam and moves aside to offer me the seat next to her.

I accept and sit next to her, the bag clutched tightly in my hand as we head back into the bustling city center from this rundown part of town. I will find my stashed vehicle for use in emergencies, so I can get to Ruby, tell her it’s all over and help her move on from this trauma.

One step at a time.

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